


Dean Winchester's Excellent Christmas Adventure

by borgmama1of5, sandymg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borgmama1of5/pseuds/borgmama1of5, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandymg/pseuds/sandymg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There has to have been, even in his peculiarly bizarre life, a day where if Dean squinted really hard, it could kind of pass as normal. This was not that day. (Christmas crack)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester's Excellent Christmas Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to skip this indulgent author's note and go straight to the story...
> 
> Flash back to Fall 2009. Supernatural was beginning year 5 and I had just mainlined the first 4 seasons in a 3 week period, then somehow stumbled into the epicness of fanfic. Among the first authors whose stories made me stay up all night reading was sandymg, who responded to my enthusiastic comments on her work with friendship--my first welcome into this new universe.
> 
> I took a stab at writing a couple of my own stories, and then one dreary November afternoon in my office I typed out the first sentence of a new story--and on a whim, I sent it to sandymg and dared her to write the next sentence. She did, and sent it back...I had Dean swing the useless ice scraper at...and when sandymg wrote 'the Abominable Snowman'...well, neither one of us did much real work at our jobs for the next few days. I'd stop a sentence at a place that dared her to take it crackier and she did without fail, both of us having to stifle ourselves from busting out laughing at what we were sending back and forth.
> 
> Five years later I look back at this little bit of perfect silliness and remember just how exhilarating the joint creation of it was. And so I present it for the enjoyment of those who have discovered Supernatural recently, and for the nostalgia of those who've been here all along, in recognition of the amazing friendships that one little TV show has facilitated.

(Pre-Stanford)

He was scraping the ice off the Impala's windshield _why couldn't Dad ever find a friggin' case in_ Florida _in December?_ when he heard it. The roar was low and deep and close. All he had time to do was swing the ice scraper as he turned _like a two dollar piece of plastic was gonna do anything to that?_  No way, there was absolutely _no such thing as the Abominable Snowman_ no matter what his Sasquatch of a brother had said. _Special creature. Unique opportunity._ For what? To freeze their asses off? And where in hell was Sam, he should have been back by now with his so-called supplies – _it’s like_ _catnip for snow monsters_ – what in hell did that mean?

Razor claws sent the ice scraper bouncing off the side of the pick-up next to him. His fingers, though numb with cold, already had the knife from his belt, but the freakin’ Bigfoot _which should not goddamn exist_ had a good ten inches reach on him. _Shit._  

Behind him Sam shouted, “Dean. NO! Don’t hurt him. I got it under control.” The whatever-the-hell-it-was stopped at his brother’s voice. Damn if the thing didn't freeze the swing that would have eviscerated him and jerk its hairy body in Sam's direction as Sam spilled unidentifiable dark flakes from the bag he had in his hand. Dean backed slowly away from the creature never taking his eyes off it or his brother. It was approaching the flakes Sam was dropping onto the snow like ET traipsing after Reese’s Pieces. 

It dropped to all fours to scoop up the goodies _for_ _chrissake it looked like an albino Wookie on its hands and knees_ and Sam backed up smoothly, keeping the same five feet between it and him until he was at the line of trees at the west end of the parking lot. 

“Sam? You’d better have a plan, ’cause I’m not living your Rudolph fantasies and making friends with a Bumble.” 

But his brother had moved out of earshot, and dammit he had to follow him into the snowy woods and this was positively the last friggin’ time he was letting Sam research something ‘interesting’. Never wanted to hear that word again as long as he lived. 

As Dean followed the creature following Sam he could hear it making a noise that masked the sound of the snow crunching under his boots. It let out a half yodel, half burble that if it hadn't been coming out of a mouth with as many teeth as a shark would have been funny. As it was, _not so much_. The furball was moving faster, closing the space between it and Sam, and Dean broke into a jog to catch up, ducking to avoid the snow he knocked from the branches that was trying to land down his jacket collar. 

When Dean caught sight of the creature again it had moved in front of Sam and was beckoning for Sam to follow. _What the hell?_ Of course, his brother didn’t stop and think that they might be Bumble’s Christmas dinner. No, Sam was tagging after it. All Dean wanted was to hightail it back to the car before it became so frozen they’d need a blowtorch to open the lock. 

“Sam, c’mon for chrissakes where are we going?” 

“It needs our help.” 

Dean figured he wasn’t hearing clearly through the howling wind. “Help with what? Devouring its next meal? Which once it wises up, will be us?!” 

“No. Its mate is sick. I can help it.” 

“Sam, we’re supposed to gank the monsters, not save ’em!” 

“This is different! I already explained …” Sam folded practically in half as he disappeared into a cave mouth. _No you didn’t, you just said you found something interesting and could we go… Oh for_ _chrissake_ …Cussing his brother under his breath, Dean had no choice but to follow him into the dark cave. 

He could see just enough by the backwash of Sam’s flashlight to not trip over the rocky floor of the passage. Surprisingly the odor was not as disgusting as he usually encountered in the caves of the nasties, although there was enough of the aroma of decay that it was never gonna be an air freshener scent. More organic, dead plant-like, than the blood-and-rancid-flesh aroma of, say, a Wendigo lair. 

The cave was larger than he realized from the outside. And while rank, it was dry and warm … well, warmer. Dean started to feel his toes again inside his boots. Fingers were still pretty numb. Not good should he need to defend himself. And his crazy brother was on some damn _All Creatures Great and Small_ house call. This was like that nearly rabid raccoon Sammy brought home one Christmas when he was barely a teenager. Named him Rocky. Maybe he wasn’t really rabid and just injured. But he sure could poop in the most inconvenient of places. 

Man, Dad was livid. Dean and Sammy had to spend hours cleaning everything in the weapons bag. If he thought too long he could still smell the crappy scent. Not the worst holiday they'd had, cleaning those weapons together. By the time Sam hit puberty he'd hated the holidays so when Dean'd started singing goofy Christmas songs just to pass the time quicker he expected a bitchface and a _shut up, Dean._ Not necessarily in that order. He got the bitchface. But his brother's heart wasn't in it. And it had been Sam's fault after all that they were wiping up raccoon shit on Christmas Eve. Sam’d joined in, off key, voice rising and deepening like Santa's belly on a good laugh. Nah. Wasn't their worst Christmas Eve. Now this one... 

It wasn’t just his fingers were frozen, Dean stopped abruptly. Brain cells were obviously frozen too — Sam had said _its mate needs help_ and goddamn _mate_ hadn’t registered until just this minute when the Bumble stopped with Sam between it and another growling mound of fur. 

Dean gave a strangled yelp as Sam knelt down between the two monsters. 

He fumbled for his pistol but his fingers were tingling so hard they felt like they’d been caught in a magic fingers bed … and Sam had clearly lost his marbles. His brother was kneeling before the second Wookie, and …. Dean blinked, looking into its … _privates_? 

_What the--_

“Dean, get over here!” Sam suddenly was aware that Dean had both gun and knife ready. “Put those away, you don’t need them!” 

“Are you frickin’ insane?” Dean hissed, not moving. 

“We need hot water. Clean rags ...” 

“Sam, what are you going on about?! Move back and let me the kill the damn things before they realize we’re kibbles!” 

“Nobody is shooting anything, Dean.” Sam lowered his voice and made soothing noises at the whimpering monster. “The yeti female is having a baby. Don’t just stand there, start a fire.” 

Dean didn’t move. Had these creatures possessed his brother? 

“Dean.” Even in the dim light Dean could see the puppy dog eyes peering at him through Sam’s bangs. “I’ve already told you. These creatures aren’t evil. They’re not even carnivorous. And they need our help.” 

Dean seized on the blatantly obvious discrepancy in what Sam had just said. “Not carnivorous? Didya notice the teeth, Sam?!” 

“Give me some credit. I checked on that. During mating season they turn vegetarian. It’s the circle of life, Dean. This isn’t what we hunt. It’s a different kind of job. Now stop standing there and get a fire going. We have a yeti to help birth.” 

Stunned and hoping to hell his brother knew what he was doing, Dean started gathering some sticks to make a small fire. Fine, so maybe they wouldn’t be this year’s Christmas goose but what was the point of this? Why did Mama Thing need _their_ help? Was it talking to Sam? Was this some long dormant talent of his freakishly smart brother? He’d learned to communicate with animals like Doctor freakin’ Doolittle? Had the raccoon spoken with him, too? 

A deafening roar shook Dean like snow through a blower. His brother was kneeling by the creature’s mammoth head, petting its cheek like one would a small dog. Except next to this thing his humungous brother looked about the size of a small dog himself. 

“Sam. What _is_ this? What are we doing?”

Sam looked up at him, and then back to the female yeti. “Dean, we have to do this. Help her, help them.” 

“Why?” Dean asked, his voice rising at the craziness of even having to ask this. 

“To save Christmas.” 

His brother had lost his freakin’ mind. That’s all there was to it. Dean was going to have to drag him out of here whether Sam wanted to come or not. Neither of the creatures were paying any attention to him  and the commotion the female was making had both the male’s and Sam’s rapt attention. Dean slid his knife back in its sheath, and debated whether to keep the gun in his hand for protection or have both hands free to deal with Sam. All things considered, Dean figured getting Sam to budge was going to be the bigger problem so he tucked the pistol back in his waistband and quietly moved closer to Sam and the … things. Although being silent was superfluous now as the female was uttering an ear-piercing wail while rocking back and forth. 

Another step closer to Sam while keeping his eyes fixed on the monsters and Dean was close enough to see over his brother’s shoulder … and see what he really, really did not want to be looking at. He was not seeing a baby yeti head coming out of … 

“Dean! I need a cloth now! And the water!” 

This was just not friggin’ happening. Sam’s pack was by Dean’s feet and he pulled out some cloths they kept for emergencies. They weren’t sterile but did it really friggin’ matter? He grabbed the canteen, too, and seriously questioning his sanity moved over to Sam and the yetis. 

Sam looked calmer than anyone with his head near … _that_ … could possibly be. “This could take a while. We need to find a way to sooth her while the contractions come. You should sing.” 

“Wh .. at?” 

“You’re a good singer. Nice and loud. Should sound good in this cave.” 

The creature bellowed again and Sam said, “Now Dean. It’ll help. I know. C’mon … _We wish you a Merry Christmas … We wish you a Merry Christmas_ …” 

“You want me to sing Christmas carols?!” 

Why was Sam looking at him like he was the one who was out of his mind? “Dean. We’re saving Christmas.” 

Dean eyed the male yeti who was staring at him mighty hungrily for an alleged vegetarian. “Sammy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you high?” 

“Dean, you know I don’t do that crap. Dad would have a cow.” 

True. But it’s not like it never happened. Last Christmas, his straight-A little brother had shocked the heck out of him. 

_Dean, didja ever, you know, try pot?_

_What?!_

_Was wonderin’ is all._

_Where’s this comin’ from Sam. Somebody gave you some?_  

Looking sheepish Sam had pulled out a couple of joints. _I thought if I were to try it, it would be okay if it were with you._  

If Dad knew he never said. But man, they’d gone through four pizzas in an hour. And Dean had done some singing that night, too, but real songs, Zeppelin and Metallica, not this Hallmark shit. Dean had thought his brother never smoked again. Now, he wasn’t so sure any more. 

 _Back to the world’s strangest manger_ … At least Sam let him stand at the other end of the female _not the business end thank you_ as Dean bellowed out holiday songs — Jingle Bells, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Silent Night, even the freakin’ Dreidel song -- whatever worked, he knew at best half the lyrics of all of ’em, but it was enough. He remembered his brother in a handful of Christmas pageants in grade school, kid never could sing. 

The fourth time through Rudolph, Dean thought, this is so wrong and then he realized the mother-to-be was moaning in time to his singing. Which was actually _wronger_. 

“Sam. How much longer?” 

“Don’t stop singing. She’s progressing really well.” 

“Mind explainin’ to me how a baby Bumble is gonna save Christmas?” 

“I already did, it’s the circle of life.” 

Sam was massaging the female’s enlarged belly. His normally large hand looked like a tiny speck buried within her mammoth furry frame. 

“The Circle of Life is a Disney song, Sam. These things have enough teeth to eat an elephant.” At Sam’s immediate frown, Dean continued. “I know, vegan diet, but seriously, what the hell are we doing here? This is a special job, according to you. So fine, I’ll accept that. But it’s Christmas Eve for pity’s sake. I’m not saying let’s turn into the Waltons, but would it be so awful to be somewhere dry and warm, maybe sippin’ eggnog?” _Generously spiked_. “At this rate Dad’ll be back and _we_ won’t be there.” _Near the motel_. _Short excursion. Something interesting._ Last time he’ll listen to Sam having one of his research-driven epiphanies.And, dammit, they were missing all the good Christmas specials on T.V. 

The creature wailed plaintively. Dean felt a touch of pity. The father was looking at his mate, eyes _the size of a frickin’ flying saucer._   The Wookie looked … worried. What the hell? _He was not going all warm and fuzzy with this!_  

“Sam, Christmas will come tomorrow whether or not this yeti has her Ewok.” 

“No. It won’t, Dean. I’ve been trying to explain. I researched. These are special beings. They’ve lived among us a long time. They are the last of their kind. Their power is more ancient, deeper than anything we’ve ever come across. It’s linked to the Earth itself.” 

“Sam, what are you saying?” 

“If this yeti baby isn’t born, healthy, _tonight_ … there won’t be a tomorrow.” 

“Come again?” 

“What I said, bro, save the yeti, save the world.” 

There was no warning. 

The cries of the birthing yeti were swallowed by the groan of earth giving way and in a relentless wave the ceiling of the cave plummeted down on them. Without conscious thought Dean seized the shoulders of the female and heaved her forward out of the maelstrom of rocks and dirt, then turned back for Sam. 

Who was gone. 

Where Sam and the father yeti had been was an unmoving earthen barrier. 

“Sam!” 

Dean had only his hands with which to tunnel through the implacable barrier to his brother. Didn’t matter. 

There was a tiny movement in the mound and Dean focused his frantic scooping there. The struggles from under the dirt aided Dean’s efforts and then a push uncovered a limb and the face of the yeti. 

Where the hell was Sam? 

Dean stared at the dead eyes of the father yeti and refused to believe that his brother was buried under this mountain of rubble and stone and boulders the size of…. Behind him there came another loud wail. _Mom_. The contractions or _whatever the hell one called it_ were getting closer together. 

“D’n …” 

 _Thank God_. “Sam! Sam, you okay?” 

His brother’s hand was clawing through the dirt, out from under the dead thing’s belly. Dean shoved handfuls of earth aside until Sam’s upper body was visible. 

“Yeah, the yeti saved me. Took the brunt of the boulders. Poor thing.” 

Dean continued moving rocks as fast as he could. There were so many, god, this would take hours. They needed a crane.

“Dean stop. How’s the mother. Tell me she’s okay?!” 

 “She’s alive. Still moaning.” 

“Good. Listen. You have to birth this baby.” 

“Sammy are you crazy? We have to get you out of there. I need to get you out—” 

“NO. You don’t understand. This baby _must_ live. Nothing …. Nobody is more important. Dean, help it, and don’t look back. Now, Dean, go!” 

“I don’t know nothin’ about birthing a baby! Let me get you out of here, you can help her!” 

“Dean, take care of her first! Just stay calm and keep talking to her. Sing again, she likes that.” A pinched look crossed Sam’s face. “Anyway, I think I broke something so you’ve gotta do it.” 

Dean looked from Sam to the mother. He had no idea if labor for unnatural creatures was anything like labor for real women, but if it was he was really glad at that moment to be a guy. The poor thing was curled on her side where he’d flung her, alternating ragged pants with screeching. She was shaking and Dean thought she must be cold so he pulled off his jacket and placed it on her. Looked like a stamp on a bear rug. She started to struggle and Dean realized she was trying to get on her paws. 

A huge spasm shook her body and her bellow threatened to bring down more of the cave. 

“Shh, shh!” Dean made an ineffective move to rub her back. 

“Dean! Catch the baby!” 

 _Baby?!_ Those were small, cute pink things. Sometimes, cute brown things. Never fur-covered … and the size of a baby polar bear! With about 3 rows of small, razor sharp teeth! Oh god, what was this … other stuff was coming out … no … oh, for Pete’s sake –  

“SAM … there’s another Bumble junior coming out … _Sam!_ ” 

His brother wasn't responding. Dean needed to go to him, make sure Sam was all right ... but these baby hairballs were demanding his attention. He yelled for Sam again and then realized he was looking at _frickin' umbilical cords!_ and he knew he was gonna have to do something about them ...  

" _Sam_?" He didn't care if Sam heard the panic Dean was feeling. 

There was a groan, then weakly, "You gotta cut and tie the cords, and keep 'em warm ..." 

Cut -- okay, he had his knife. Tie -- what the hell could he use for that? Dean's gaze fell on the leather band around his right wrist. The point of the knife quickly split it in half, then again. With the babies' cords handled he swaddled first one, then the other in the old t-shirts from Sam's pack. Good thing his brother was Sasquatc- sized. Splashed some holy water on their blood-matted faces to clear their eyes. Enormous golden eyes that looked at him with total innocence and ... _trust?_  

Mama yeti gave one last whimper and shut her eyes. Dean panicked. _No_. He leaned over and yes, she was still breathing. Cripes, Bumble breath was awful. 

The babies were wiggling, spewing slightly. They were cute in a hideous sort of way. He hated what he had to do next, but it was inevitable. She was female so she must have … he dug through the fur. There. Oh, more than two. 

“Well kids, looks like it’s your lucky day, double taps, extras on the house.” He slid each baby up to the mother’s teats and watched just this side of amazed _no not moved_ when they latched on and started suckling. 

He ran back to the opening where his brother lay under the rubble. “Deck the halls, Sam, I just saved Christmas …Sam? _Sam!_ ”

 _Christ no!_ Sam’s head was lolled over his chest, eyes shut, and Dean couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Dean began clawing at the earth trapping his brother, heedless of the pain as his hands became bruised and bloody. _This wasn’t happening._  

“Move over, I can help.” 

Dean jumped back, turned to stare into the eyes of a large, bearded man, wearing suspenders and a plaid shirt, carrying a pick axe. “Name’s Yukon Cornelius … and if you move outta the way, I can break through and free the kid.” 

He looked a little like Bobby with his full beard. The man started hammering down on the rocks with incredible strength. “Don’t just stand there,” he hollered. “Move these rocks as I dig.” 

Dean scooped handfuls of rocks and stones and tossed them aside. Below, Sam lay still. It seemed to take forever but slowly, eventually, they made headway, a path was cleared wide enough for Dean to grab Sam’s shoulders and pull his limp body out of the cave-in. 

He laid his little brother on the ground and immediately felt for a pulse -- his own felt like it had long stopped. _Oh god no_. Nothing. Sam wasn’t breathing. His heart wasn’t beating. He couldn’t be … 

“Quick boy, go to the Bumble and get some milk.” 

“Wh … at?” Dean squeaked. 

“Wanna save this boy? Well the only thing that’s gonna do it is Bumble milk. Lucky we happen to have Mama Bumble handy.” 

There has to have been, even in his peculiarly bizarre life, a day where if Dean squinted really hard, it could kind of pass as normal. 

This was not that day. 

In fact, he could not think of a strong enough word to describe just how messed up his world was right now. His rational mind was gibbering in a corner. His brother was dead and an Alaskan trapper with the name of a character from a T.V. Christmas special was telling Dean that mother’s milk from a supernatural creature that _doesn’t freakin’ exist_ would fix Sam. 

He could do this, right? 

Dean squeezed gently, aiming carefully into the canteen. He was milking yeti teats. He would never, ever be able to fondle a girl again without thinking of this…  _I’m doing this for you, Sam, and goddamn this better work and you will owe me forever._ Okay, another new one – the miracle juice was freakin’ pink. Looked like watered-down Pepto Bismol. Smelled like it, too. 

Milking the Bumble was harder than it looked. The rugrats weren’t into sharing and kicked so that the milk squirted him in the eye a few times and it stung like a bitch but finally he had what he figured was about a tablespoon. Enough? Let’s see, what _was_ the dosage for _yeti resurrection juice?_

The trapper lifted up Sam’s head and motioned for Dean to hurry. Dean fell to his knees before his brother. This was ridiculous. Insane. And if it didn’t work he didn’t want to see tomorrow. 

Carefully he tipped the canteen into Sam’s mouth and poured the thin, pink liquid down his brother’s throat. Dean stared, willing the impossible. _C’mon Sam. Please._  

Sam gave a soft hiss, followed by coughing, then sputtering … then Sam shot up like he was spring-loaded and grumbled, “What the heck did you give me? Yuch!” 

Sam started to wipe the spittle off his face with his … paw. Which was sprouting a covering of dirty white fur and fingernails that were black and pointy and six freakin’ inches long and growing! 

The fabric of Sam’s clothes shredded like discarded wrapping paper as Sam’s arms and legs exploded with muscle and hair. 

“De…oar!” burst out of a fang-filled mouth. 

Dean imagined this is what it would look like to see Dr. Banner hulk out _okay green, not furry_ but this could not be happening to his baby brother! 

“Be careful of the teeth!” 

Dean turned on Cornelius. “Why does my brother have two sets of teeth and fur?! What the hell is going on?!” 

The big man looked a bit sheepish. “Forgot ’bout that little side effect …” 

“You forgot? That my brother would turn into a permanent fixture at a freakin’ Star Wars convention?” 

“D’n … wz … hap …grrrr?” 

Dean turned back to Sam. He was never going to call his brother Sasquatch again if they got out of this one. How could they ever explain this to their father tomorrow morning? _Dad, Merry Christmas, thought you needed a new coat … this one kinda, um moves_. But that worry had to wait because at that moment Sam was trying to stand and man, he was big. Holy Bigfoot big. 

“How do we undo this?” he asked Cornelius, certain that the man knew more than he’d said. 

“Well, we’ll have to act quick. But … I think … if we get Sam some elfnog within the hour he’ll be back to his normal self in no time.” 

“Elfnog?” Was Dean dead? Had the monster eaten him and this was the afterlife? Yeah, it’d be the kind of afterlife he’d get thrown into. 

“Don’t look so worried. You whip it up like regular eggnog except for the one extra ingredient.” 

“Pixie dust?” Dean snarked. 

Cornelius frowned. “No, idjit … that would only take care of the fur but not the teeth. We need reindeer dander, ’course!” 

Okay. No problem. He needed to find a reindeer, which lived where exactly? Sam would know. But Sam was currently about as helpful as a carpet. 

“Mrr… all.” 

“’S okay, Sam. We’re going to get you what you need.” 

“Ma..rrr....ll.” 

Dean stared into Sam’s furry face. Sounded like “mall.” Sam wanted to go shopping? That would go over well with store security ...  _Wait_. Of course … “The local mall had reindeer in its Santa display!” 

A rumble behind them made them all turn. 

Mama Bumble was standing, looking around … Uh-oh … 

The shriek was deafening. Dean’s ears felt like they were being blasted by dynamite. Poor thing. She figured out her mate was dead. 

“Um … boys … I think we should go,” Cornelius said just as the female yeti turned toward them, three rows of teeth bared at once with ravenous hunger burning in her black eyes. 

It was a nightmarish scramble, Yukon swinging his pick-axe to clear a way out, and while Dean tried to push his walking-fur-coat-of-a-brother after the miner, Chewie was gonna be difficult and insist on staying between Dean and the pissed off mother. The two hairy beasts traded deafening roars and when the female swiped those fierce talons at his brother’s face Dean had his gun back out and was ready to blast her … and Sasquatch smacked Dean’s wrist hard enough to bruise and his weapon went flying. 

Whatever Sam was yowling at him was totally unintelligible but the violent headshake of “no” was pretty plain.  

“What the hell you doin’ Sam?!” 

His brother was walking back into the lair making little “mmrrpping” noises, going to where the baby Bumbles had been left on the ground. Mama wasn’t exactly “mrpping” back but she wasn’t trying to take either of their heads off for the moment. 

Dean watched in shock as his brother picked up one of the small-horse-sized babies and rocked it, then handed it to its mother and did the same with the second one. 

“Come on, I’ve cleared the way out!” Yukon’s yell echoed from the far end of tunnel he’d hacked out. 

“Okay, dude, we are leaving NOW!” Dean seized two handfuls of fur on his brother’s rump—another mental picture that he would never erase—and tugged until with an annoyed growl Sam came with him. Dean would swear his brother was saying something like, “It’s been a pleasure to help you, Mrs. Yeti, and you have beautiful babies, and we’re really sorry about your husband…” in Bumble-talk. 

Back outside Dean hustled both of the other escapees from a holiday special back to the Impala. 

And like he knew was gonna happen, because he was just having one of  those days, sure enough the car’s locks were frozen solid. 

“No problem” Cornelius said. “We can take my dogsled.” 

Dean looked over at the small sleigh hitched to four medium-sized dogs and then back to his brother who was about the size of a tree now and knew that was not gonna work. 

“Srraaay heergreee.” 

“Looks like you’ll have to, Sam. But don’t go back to that cave, you hear me. Just, um, stay put, out of sight, and … don’t eat anyone, okay?” 

“Gotta hurry boy, gotta get that dander, make the elfnog and get back here in less than 40 minutes or your brother’s gonna go full out Bumble.” 

Dean gave Sam a last worried look and sat behind the trapper for the ride down toward the village to the small shopping district. He had to admit it was very efficient way to travel in the snow and also kinda fun. He remembered going sledding once as a kid with his brother, the thrill of tearing down the hill, big wet snowflakes sticking in his eyelashes, the sled toppling over when they hit bottom and dumping both of them in a snow bank. 

Dad had acted kind of mad at how soaked they’d gotten, but he’d made them hot chocolate as they’d dried off and had a sad kind of smile on his face while he watched them drink it. Dean blinked and they were at the mall entrance where Cornelius split off from him saying he was going to mix the elfnog and they’d meet back here in twenty minutes. The tracker told him to bring the reindeer with him because the dander was the last ingredient and had to be fresh or it wouldn’t be potent enough to do a full reversal. 

He’d broken into some places before but this was his first mall-breaking-and-entering. Luckily the security system was pretty elementary and he was inside and walking around the deserted hallways without much fuss. 

He followed the Santa’s Village display signs until he saw a small pen surrounded by wooden cut-out elves and a large chair which he supposed was where Santa sat for pictures. He’d brought Sammy to a mall a couple times when he was little to sit on Santa’s lap, of course never got a picture, never told Dad about it. Dean’d never believed in the bearded old guy but he pretended to for his little brother. Dean suddenly wondered if there’d been a photo of him and Santa taken at a mall, before the fire. He shook his head, no time to get loopy. 

The reindeers were littler than he expected, about the size of a small pony, only with short legs and extra long noses. And antlers, of course. They eyed him curiously as he approached. Dean made quick work of the cheap lock. 

“Here boy,” he cooed gently tugging on the cord around the neck of the closest one. The reindeer resisted and stared at Dean with an uncanny bright look in its deep brown eyes. 

“I need your help,” he found himself explaining. “Gotta save my brother. C’mon Rudy, be a pal and cooperate.” 

As if he understood the reindeer allowed him to lead it back outside to where Cornelius waited impatiently. 

“Took you long enough. Give it here …” 

The trapper used a little comb to pick through the reindeer’s soft, flat fur and then brushed his hands along the comb’s teeth to release a miniscule amount of white specks into a canteen. Dean wondered where the older man had found the ingredients for the elfnog but he didn’t get to ask because the man’s next words took all rational thought out of his mind. 

“Well, it’s done. You got about five minutes. You can make it. But only if you fly.” 

Five minutes and Sammy becomes a Bumble for life? The dogsled ride to the mall had taken fifteen minutes going downhill. How was he going to get back to his brother in time? And only because something in the other man’s matter-of-fact bearing reminded Dean of another cantankerous cap-wearing hunter did Dean turn to him with panicked eyes and ask, “Yukon? What do I do?” 

The trapper stared at him. “I already done told you, boy. You gotta fly.”

“Come again.” 

“Hop on the back of the reindeer and he’ll get you there. Won’t you, nice fella?” This last was said to the reindeer who Dean could have sworn nodded yes. 

“But … reindeers don’t really fly. Tha...t’s make believe.” 

Cornelius laughed. “It’s Christmas Eve, boy! And you got yourself a Bumble nearby. Near enough to get this little one off the ground a short distance anyway. Now hop to it, if’n you wanna save your brother.” 

Flying? _Why did it have to be flying?_ Dean’s stomach was doing the jitterbug, the Charleston and the twist all at once. Flying scared the ever-living crap out of him. Not that anybody knew this. Especially as their father always drove everywhere. 

 _Sam, you owe me … you will owe me for freakin’ ever._ Gingerly he approached Rudy. “Nice boy,” he said petting its back gently. He gingerly put a leg over its squat body and held on around its neck. Dean’s legs touched the ground on either side and he wondered how the heck the puny animal was going to get them both up in the air. 

“Ready?” Cornelius asked. 

Dean had his eyes scrunched tight and was trying to remember how to breathe. “Yeah,” he squeaked out. 

“To the Bumble … now …” 

The little animal took one, two, three little leaps and then it was airborne. Dean felt his stomach sink and then wind push against his face and he let out one long, “Ahhhhhh ….” as he held on for dear life _. Oh god oh god oh god_ … he gasped for air and he knew he had to calm down or he’d hyperventilate and pass out and that wasn’t a good idea when sitting on the back of a swaying reindeer flying through the sky on frickin’ Christmas Eve. 

He dug his hands into the animal’s smooth fur, digging his nails in harder than he should but he had no choice or he’d fall off and his father would never forgive his dead ass for letting Sammy turn into a walking shag rug. The wind was frigid, whipping against his nose, his cheeks, burning his eyes when he dared slit them open them … the ground was littered with little greenish specks that were… tree tops … _oh god_ … Shut his eyes tight again. Man was not meant to fly, no sirree, if so, they’d have wings _like frickin’ angels_ and he didn’t have wings, nope he had chicken feathers because …. Whoa! The reindeer veered right and was drifting toward a rather vicious looking mountain. Was that mountain always there? He didn’t remember it before. _Ahhhhh_ … another shake. “Easy Rudy, we’re pals here, aren’t we? Flyin’ buddies. Don’t go shakin’ me off, bud. We need to get to Sammy. Get him the mojo nog.” 

The reindeer let out a small sound. Sounded like a gleep or maybe a gurp, coulda been a burp, but he liked to think that it was trying to make him feel better. He leaned in closer and gave it a sort of hug, not that he wasn’t squeezing the hell out of the animal as it was. Didn’t want to break its ribs. _Flying_. Man, he hated flying ... Sitting on the plane, six-year-old Sam by the window all excited and peering down and asking what clouds felt like and what would happen if the window goddamn opened and could they get more peanuts … And Dad saying that Dean and Sammy needed to stay with Pastor Jim, he’d come get them as soon as he could. But they’d never been away from Dad before for very long and who would take care of Dad, and what if when Dean was gone, the monster came and took Dad like it took Mom?

A slight shift and he sensed they were finally heading down, which was good, because down was land and land was good, was where he belonged. And Sam was there. Only they were descending rather fast weren’t they? Shouldn’t the incline be smoother? Shouldn’t Rudy be slowing down about -- _Oh shit!_

Dean was falling, falling, falling, his arms and legs flailing uselessly … one hand swiped the fuzzy leg of the reindeer but there was no way to grasp it and even as he felt sick from anticipation of hitting the ground the canteen of elfnog tumbled out of his other hand and he was gonna die and Sam was gonna stay a Bumble and he really screwed up this time … I’m sorry, Dad … I’m sorry, Sam … Dean closed his eyes. 

His back hit the ground with a thump and it was an involuntary thing to look at the sky one last time. He must have almost made it back to the woods by the motel, for hovering above him, out-of-focus, was his brother’s face. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he gasped. But maybe, maybe it wasn’t too late, “Sam, the canteen, I dropped it,” he had to make Sam understand. “But it’s gotta be close, you find it now and drink the elfnog and you’ll be okay. Won’t be a Bumble no more.” 

Dean closed his eyes again and waited for the pain to hit, a fall from that high must surely have broken his back. Then he heard laughing. 

“Dude.” 

Open eyes again and yes, that was Sam still looming, still blurry around the edges but … he wasn’t fuzzy Bumble Sam, he was just usual ginormatron Sam? 

“Elfnog?” Sam was … chortling. “I’m thinking you had a little too much eggnog, bro!” 

Dean was lying on the carpet between the two motel beds. 

“You’re not a Bumble?” Why was he having so much trouble making sense out of this? 

Sam quirked his head.  “Okay, Dean, no more spiked eggnog for you.” 

Dean stumbled back up onto his bed, holding his head. No. This didn’t … It was a dream? Sammy was okay? He peered at his brother who now sat next to him on the creaky bed. “I don’t—” 

Jimmy Durante was warbling “Frosty the Snowman” on the T.V. Right, they’d been watching a Christmas classics marathon on the tube. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how much you added to your ’nog, but it sounded like you were having a heckuva party.” 

Sam’s smirk was interrupted by his cell buzzing. As Sam checked it Dean saw his plastic cup sitting on the nightstand. Still had something in it and he drained it in one gulp. 

That had been messed up … flyin’ on Rudolph …  and Sam… 

“Huh,” Sam looked up from his message. “That was Pastor Jim. Remember Mrs. Rodin? Baked us those Christmas cookies that year we spent the holidays with Pastor Jim? Anyway, I always ask about her. Seems her daughter just had twins.” Sam stuffed his phone back in his pocket, and Dean could see the wicked teasing look in Sam’s eyes. 

“Sounded like one heckuva dream, Dean. A Bumble? Like in the Rudolph special? And you were hollering about six tits … which is actually kind of perverse.” 

Dean looked at his brother. Sasquatch – all his freakin’ fault growing halfway to Bumble already. “Shoulda left you a Bumble, you Bigfoot. I’ll have you know I flew on a reindeer to save you.” 

“Really? That part sounds cool.” 

Sam would think this. “Actually they’re kinda small and they smell. But not as bad as the Bumble.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Oh, and Bobby was in it. Well, he was Yukon Cornelius.” 

Sam laughed. 

“Sam?” 

“Mmm?” 

“There’s no such thing as a yeti , right?” 

Sam’ eyes widened and his stare grew dead serious. “Sure there is. Very mystical creatures. Holy even. Very few left. And tonight … they need to have a special baby or … the world just goes poof.” His idiot brother burst into a piercing cackle. Clearly Dean’d been talking a lot in his dream. _Bitch_. 

“Dean?” 

Dean didn’t answer, too annoyed and embarrassed and otherwise feeling most scrooge-like. 

“Did something bad happen in the dream? ’Cause you were awfully upset at one point … I almost woke you …” 

Dean looked at Sam. Here, safe, with him. “Nah. Just your usual monster stuff. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle asleep or awake. He looked at the time. Midnight. Sam noticed at the same time. 

“Merry Christmas, Sam.” 

“You, too, bro.”

****


End file.
